Noodle Has Three Daddies
by Senri
Summary: Alternately, five times the Gorillaz boys have 'parented' Noodle.


"Bild," Noodle said, reaching for Cortes with her dark eyes barely visible below her fringe. Murdoc hauled her back before she could prod his pet.

"There now, love," he said. "That's not a nice birdy. He'd probably bite your itty fingers off and we need you to play guitar. Why don't you go find the face-ache and do whatever it is you two do together?"

That should have been the end of it, but she was a persistent little sprog – he'd give her that. Somehow she squirmed and twisted out from his hands in a confounding, clever manner. "Damn!" he snapped, grabbing for her, because Satanist or not he wasn't keen on cleaning up blood and finger bits and dealing with all the litigation issues that might arise, but Noodle was far too quick and she stroked Cortes from the hoary ruff on the back of his neck down to his ragged tailfeathers. "Herro, bild," she said.

Cortes, far from being offended by this, fixed a beady eye on her and made a soft gurgling cluck, of a variety that Murdoc hadn't heard since the bird was a naked chick stuffed full of bloody meat-scraps. The bassist stared in utter disbelief, then latched on to Noodle and bundled her out the door. He was somehow successful this time.

When she was gone, he stared at his crow in disgust. "Oh, you utter bloody _sop_," he said. "What's gone wrong with you?"

**2.**

"Come on, Niccols," Russell said. "She needs the window."

The bassist glowered and clutched possessively at the arm wrests of his airplane seat. "No way, fatty," he spat. "Noodle's a big girl, she can live with the middle, we drew straws and the window is mine."

Russell silently rolled his eyes, not that anyone could tell, given that they were featureless white all round. "Come on, man," he said, and lifted Noodle's tense, unhappy little form into his arms. "Just look at her, she's not gonna last if you make her sit in the middle. And it's not like I'm asking for me. I don't wanna sit next to you…"

He tapped Noodle's chin in Murdoc's direction, so the other man could see the squinched misery in her face. It was hard to imagine how she'd managed being airmailed to Kong if she disliked planes and enclosed spaces so much.

Murdoc glared at them all, humming with silent animosity. Noodle shifted and made a soft, gloomy noise. "Man, if you don't let her at the window, I think she might puke," Russell said. He'd saved the best weapon for last.

"Fine," the bassist snapped, "Fine, fine." He stood up and edged over a seat, and Russell shuffled Noodle so that she was perched next to the window. Murdoc sat down with an offended air in the center seat. Softly, he said to Russell, "You'll suffer for this, fatso."

Russell closed his eyes and told himself that he could live with it.

**3.**

2D made a hideous mess in the kitchen, breaking eggs, slopping almost-expired milk, dumping a fine coat of flour over the dirty counters. This done he slopped his concoction into a pan and put it in the oven to bake. Noodle patted in at the sweet smell of cake, and the two of them at a whole container of frosting between them before bothering with the dough.

"Happy birthday, love," he said, later.

**4.**

"It does not fit, Russell," she said from inside the changing room. "Could you go and get me the next size, please?"

The big man rubbed at his forehead. How can it not fit? he thought. Noodle, you're as skinny as a… noodle. How can you possibly fit into a bigger… size…

And there he went thinking things that weren't right, that _really_ weren't right. Things he didn't want to think at all. "Sure, sweetheart," he said. "No problem. I'll go get you another. Pass me that one so I see the style you want, a'ight?

There was a soft rattle as Noodle passed him a hanger with a tiny scrap of garment hanging off of it over the door. Russell held it between thumb and forefinger as though it were something dead and smelly.

He wondered how he'd ever been coerced into helping Noodle shop for her first bra.

**5.**

The musty booming dark of backstage: and a boy, lovely boy, with tufty red hair and a silver ring in his nose. Noodle, fifteen, draws him close and blesses him with a kiss: once at the corner of his mouth, once below his narrowed left eye, once on his brow. He shifts, breathes a warm gale of air over her face, slides his hands down her back. And is promptly yanked backwards by a silently furious bassist.

"What's this, you wanker?" Murdoc growls. "Noodle, haven't I taught you _anything_?"

She gazes at him with wide, wise, blandly surprised eyes.

"You do these things in _private_," Murdoc lectures. "_Not_ where Russell can catch you. Gerroff and go have your fun somewhere else, I don't want to see you going at this, go on now."

Sweetly, she smiles. He glowers. They part, the girl and her find.

END.

3/11/06.

Gone over a bit 8/11/07.


End file.
